The Car’s On Fire And There’s No One At The Wheel

As easily as my gear was sold to a prankster who had no intention of buying it, it was unsold. The procedure for Non-Paying Bidder is lengthy in order to distinguish Lazy Bidders Who Mean Well from Fuckhead Bidders Who Mean Ill. I actually think I’m in the former category, hence my reluctance to press the matter.

Because everything is about projection.

Yet, whoosh, my account was credited (in lieu of having my money refunded: paid in cash, refunded in monopoly money). Bidder suspended. The binary code is mightier than the sword.

Yet, I still like my Non-Paying Bidder. I think it’s fun to play tricks on people. The distinguishing feature… or is it the mitgating factor? is how the tricked people are selected.

And in the blink of an eye, someone has stepped up to take the place of the Non-Paying Bidder, and in this way, after accidentally knocking the curtain, I can report:

Things sold through a place that rhymes with FeeWay have a little momentum while they are listed. If the thing doesn’t sell, then the momentum truly swarms in the wake of the failed sale. This flurry of activity doesn’t take place in the place that rhymes with FeeWay, but in the Alley Just Outside the place that rhymes with FeeWay.
However, no one in either place wants to pay a fair price for quality goods. They are so many people on your lawn offering you a quarter, regardless of the size and function of the object.

So I miss Non-Paying Bidder, who at least had a sense of humor and so generously accepted my reserve.

It was fun while it lasted.

It’s OK to sell things here

Eli is selling his bass because he has two. I feel I can’t point
people to the spot where I’m selling my gear not because it’s
duplicate gear, but because it’s aesthetically inert gear.

My reason seems not as admissible as Eli’s.

In fact, the whole thing seems like a crime. I’m cast into a woodcut that shows some dark usury going on, if only one could get a better look at the foxed print. It is as if to say:

If I had the patience, talent, or self-esteem, I would learn how to use this gear in acts of remarkable self-expression.

Musicians who sell their gear give an air of distress. Somehow, the practice of their art isn’t sufficient to bridge the gap between
responsibilities and resources. The only people a musician wishes to sell the gear to likely cannot afford it, being similarly distressed.

So now I’m worried about selling to a non-musician.

I hope it’s how a horsewoman feels when she sells a pony to a indulgent parent.

If I could plant the gear and have it grow something someone else needs to eat, I’d do it.

The way I’ve set it up, I can only look forward to the money in an
amount that’s slightly less than satisfying.